


The Unforgiving Cold

by valdomarx (cptxrogers)



Series: Octoberfest fics [20]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Huddling For Warmth, Hurt/Comfort, Hypothermia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:06:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27140164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cptxrogers/pseuds/valdomarx
Summary: Jaskier is struck down with hypothermia, and Geralt does his best to help.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Octoberfest fics [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1956754
Comments: 4
Kudos: 250





	The Unforgiving Cold

**Author's Note:**

> alex's prompts day 20: hypothermia

By the time they made it back to camp, Jaskier was shivering violently.

“Jaskier?” Geralt shook him, more roughly than he intended. “Jaskier!”

Jaskier’s head lolled and his eyes were unfocused. Geralt cursed under his breath. He’d thought he understood the physical limitations of humans, but clearly not.

The snow had been falling for days and the ice was thick on the ponds, but he’d assumed that if the bard was really suffering, he’d have said so. Gods knew he complained enough about every small inconvenience on the road. But looking at him now, his grey skin, the tinge of blue on his fingernails, and the sluggish movement of his pupils, he was clearly in a bad way.

“Fuck.” Geralt sat Jaskier down as carefully as he could and threw a pile of kindling together, igniting it with a wave of his hand. He’d have to fetch more wood soon, but that would do for now.

Any thought of taking Jaskier to the village was dashed by the fact he could barely sit upright. There was no way he’d make it on foot or on horseback. Geralt would have to make do with what he had here at camp.

“Jaskier, I’m going get you warm, okay? But first you need to get out of those wet clothes. They’ll only make it worse.”

Jaskier’s eyes fixed onto him for a moment and Geralt was sure he was going to make a crude joke and everything would be back to normal. But then his gaze slipped into blankness once more and Geralt rushed to his side to hold him steady as he wobbled.

With a great deal of inelegant shuffling, he managed to get Jaskier out of his soaked silks and into one of his own spare shirts and shorts. He laid him down on a bedroll by the fire and very deliberately did not think about how Jaskier smelled like him now, for this was decidedly not the time.

The fire crackled merrily away and Jaskier’s face regained some colour, but he was still wracked with shivers. Swearing under his breath, Geralt decided there was no other option.

“Don’t you dare grouse at me about this in the morning,” he grumbled, stripping off his armour and down to his shirt. “But I run hot, and this should help.”

Awkwardly, he scooted up behind Jaskier and lay near to him. Even from inches away, he felt like a block of ice. Pushing down his embarrassment in service of his companion, Geralt moved closer until Jaskier’s back was pressed to his chest, putting one arm around him to draw him closer.

Jaskier let out a little noise that sounded almost contented, and Geralt held him and tried to project a reassuring air. But as he adjusted his arm, his hand brushed across Jaskier’s freezing fingers and something awful twisted inside his stomach.

Jaskier’s hands, the hallmark of his trade, those beautiful tools with which he brought forth music. For a bard to loose his fingers would be even worse than for a warrior, and the idea of Jaskier without music was wrong, wrong, wrong on a fundamental level.

“Here.” Geralt rolled Jaskier over to face him as gently as he could. He uncurled his clenched fists and spread his fingers over his own chest, so that they were sandwiched between the two of them. He drew him closer and could only hope that he‘d acted in time and Jaskier wouldn’t loose any function to the freezing cold.

After a few minutes of uneasy worry, he felt Jaskier’s fingers flexing against him, little points of pressure spread over his chest.

“Oh.” Jaskier’s voice was shaky but he seemed more lucid now. He gave Geralt’s chest another little squeeze. “That’s nice.”

Geralt snorted. “Silly bard.” He brushed the damp hair away from Jaskier’s forehead, revealing two tired but sharp blue eyes. “Can’t have you freezing to death on me.”

Jaskier wriggled as close as could be, until they were pressed together from head to toe. “Thanks, Geralt,“ he managed, though it sounded exhausted. “For looking after me.”

“Hmm.” He waited until Jaskier’s breath had evened out and he had relaxed into the comfort of sleep before dropping a soft kiss to his mussed hair. “Thanks for staying with me,” he said, quiet enough that it was lost into the dark night.


End file.
